


Petit Chapeau

by ThirteenthLetterOfTheAlphabet



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Backstory interpretation, Based on theories, Brief mentions of other characters - Freeform, Industrial Revolution, Mentions of Death, OC's (they have to be there, Small Black Hat, Violence, abuse mention, story telling, you'll see why)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 03:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15699642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirteenthLetterOfTheAlphabet/pseuds/ThirteenthLetterOfTheAlphabet
Summary: “You…” the scientist began slowly, “you want to talk about your life?”“No, you idiotic waste of flesh! I will only be discussing how I came to power, that is all.” Black Hat cut harshly, making his subordinate flinch back, hunching his shoulders and closing his eyes.“Y-yes, s-s-sir.” Came a stuttered response.The scientist sighed and turned his gaze back to the tape recorder, a red button glaring back. He loaded the device with a blank cassette.“Well, sir,” Flug clicked the record button, “where should we begin?”





	Petit Chapeau

**Author's Note:**

> First time writer hoping to give you a decent story. This is my interpretation of Black Hat's past. Several aspects of this fan fiction are based on theories from the English Villainous Amino (I should know, a few friends and I wrote them).  
> I really hope you enjoy!

Unnatural, a good word to describe the events unfolding before the scientist as he crept down the silent, blood shade hallway. The hallway that was unnaturally lit. The hallway that was unnaturally silent. The hallway that was unnaturally filled with paintings that were, for once, not boring their gazes down onto the railing of a man.

The unnatural hallway.

A good word. A fitting word. Unnatural.

Sneakers squeaked as they pushed dips into the old dark oak below, the sound making the intellectual cringe even though no other made a stand of protest from it. How dare he be allowed to walk so familiarly down this hall? Had his own master forgotten who he was? To allow such an inferior being to feel so awkwardly fine under his roof was a suspicious thought. Sure, his Jefe has been a tad more… collected, these past few months. And, of course, by collected the scientist meant that his Boss’ rages have been more confined within his office and less subordinate endangering unless one were to find themselves in the unfortunate event of being near his door in those precise moments.

The silence was foreign to say the least.

Unnatural.

But, everything; the hall, the paintings, the silence, even, paled in comparison to what lurked beyond that engraved door. The door to his Boss’ office. The door no one, not even the rambunctious fanatic of the villain who lived here, dared to pry open given the circumstances of the past few months. They have been, to say the least, terrifying. 

The scientist opened the door with an aged creak. In the silence of the unknown, the sound was deafening. His Boss had surely heard it.

He stepped inside the office.

“Flug,” cooed a gravelly voice from the darkness, “come in.”

Upon hearing the voice from apparently no source but the ominously dark room, Dr. Flug was immediately sent into a state of unease. His legs began to tremble, and his back and shoulders tensed up painfully, like a prey cowering to its predator. 

“S-sir, you uh…. You c-called?” stuttered out the scientist. 

He took cautious steps into the unknown, each board creaking beneath him as if tempting the idea of caving in. The light from the hallway didn’t reach into the office in a way that would make one think the door was firmly in place. It wasn’t however, leaving a rectangular beacon of light in Flug’s wake, beckoning him to return to its humble safety, begging him not to take another step into the darkness.

_Creak._

“Yes.” came the only, slithered out reply. Honestly, the sound was like sandpaper against a rock.

_Creak._

“I must request something from you, Doctor, something nearly all of your predecessors have been asked of from their masters’ before.” 

_Creak._

“O-oh?”

Amongst the rambling fears in his head, suspicion began to bubble up as the scientist wondered what exactly his Boss meant. Flug knew of the long lineage of assistants to the great and powerful Black Hat that he was a part of but, he knew no more than that. Anything about past lives and even possible reincarnation has been rather hush hush between the two, even more so to the world. What could possibly be needed from him that involved this intertwined history of the pair?

_Creak._

Flug was so deep into the dark room by now that he couldn’t even tell how far away he was from any of the walls except for the one containing the still open door. Faintly outstretched, searching hands found their way to a chair. Gripping it like a lifeline, the Doctor navigated his way around it to take a seat. He felt his foot lightly bump against the wood of his Boss’ desk.

Black Hat rumbled his approval, an ungodly noise that no man should be able to make but, approving all the same. The being was still hidden to Flug who, even as his eyes slowly adjusted to the seemingly infinite black, could only see the outlining of the chair he sat on.

The mutual quiet the two had been sharing was suddenly broken as Flug let out an embarrassing shriek. With the sound of a snap, the door behind him had slammed shut, cutting off any possible light or escape for the Doctor to retreat to. The scientist could even hear the sound of a lock clicking and the vents above being sealed off as well. Whatever was about to be spun before the Doctor was obviously only for his ears and his ears alone. 

The darkness was consuming. It surrounded Flug like an unholy coffin, suffocating and compact. A surge of gratefulness, however, filled his being as a lamp was suddenly clicked on by his Boss. It did not escape the scientist, however, how odd it was for his Boss to have a lamp on his desk, typically there wasn’t. But, what peaked his interest more was the tape recorder sitting centered on the desk, a series of empty cassettes and a notebook and pen resting nearby.

“Jefecito?” Flug questioned. 

Although the clutches of fear never lost their grip on the intellectual’s mind, he couldn’t help but slowly grow a touch more comfortable. This was something unexpected and his Boss didn’t appear to be enraged although he did have an uncomfortable look upon his mug. It was a familiar expression, one normally worn when the horror was faced with anything remotely domestic or, scientific theory forbids, human.

The lamp light only illuminated a fraction of the room, Flug could see the entirety of his Jefe’s desk, the chairs sandwiching it, his own two hands (finally), and his Boss. The pair, however, were still surrounded by shadows that disguised the true size of the room. Stuck in their little oasis of dingy green light, the two stared at each other, waiting. 

“As your simple mind could probably recall, Doctor,” Black Hat broke, face growing more and more uncomfortable as he continued the subject, “November 25th is nearing with each passing day and, in turn, my… resignation from the organization follows it.”

Dr. Flug felt himself grow cold, as if he were being dipped into Atlantic waters inch by inch. Follows? November 25th practically _was _his superior’s “resignation” date, or so he liked to call it. The last time Flug had actually called the day for what it was, he had earned himself a weekend vacation in the dimension of eternal suffering. He still saw the image of his son, 5.0.5., decapitated whenever he closed his eyes.__

____

____

“With this in mind, time is beginning to run short for us to… talk.” The uncomfort in his face had soured so much, Black Hat’s expression began to contort as if perturbed by a lemon. 

“Talk, sir?” 

He continued with a huff, “With my replacement in preparation, it is fitting that you record how I came to my…” he paused to clutch his hat between his middle finger and thumb, grazing across as his index navigated the rim, “position.” He finished.

Ah, yes, the hat. Many believed it to just be a lifeless garment, a useless symbol only given title by the evil being underneath it.

How wrong they all were.

The pair shared a knowing look, very few knew of the hat’s secrets. Flug, himself, only knew a minor few of them and he hadn’t the foggiest if Black Hat knew any more than he. It was a very secretive business the two were in, it was almost like a sick joke. A mystery hidden in plain sight, a private matter concealed on a pompous stage. 

Flug glanced down at the tape recorder in front of him, lifting a hand to gently rest against the various buttons adorning the device.

“You…” the scientist began slowly, “you want to talk about your life?”

“No, you idiotic waste of flesh! I will only be discussing how I came to power, that is all.” Black Hat cut harshly, making his subordinate flinch back, hunching his shoulders and closing his eyes.

“Y-yes, s-s-sir.” Came a stuttered response. 

The scientist sighed and turned his gaze back to the tape recorder, a red button glaring back. He loaded the device with a blank cassette.

“Well, sir,” Flug clicked the record button, “where should we begin?”


End file.
